


Something Old; Something New

by Mythril (fantacination)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Flustered!Shiro, How Do I Tag, Keith (Voltron) is finally good at feelings, Keith's big glow up, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Romantic Comedy, Sharing Clothes, Voltron: Legendary Defender Spoilers, You Have Been Warned, may cause secondhand emabrassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 05:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14994224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantacination/pseuds/Mythril
Summary: Season 6 Spoilers.Keith's outgrown his old clothes and Shiro fails to deal.Luckily, that works out for them.(Or: Keith's outgrown his clothes, but he'll never outgrow Shiro.)





	Something Old; Something New

It was strange, walking around the Garrison without his uniform on. 

Officially speaking, he was dead, putting him well outside of the Garrison’s chain of command. His position had been filled a long time ago. He was almost surprised how little he missed it.  

He had left earth wide-eyed, thinking that he knew the world and his place in it, his whole future laid out in crisp salutes and the flash of medals. He’d come back knowing exactly how vast and unknowable the universe beyond them was, how he rattled inside it, his identity fractured twice over and patched with worn seams. 

But old habits die hard. The snap in an officer’s voice still made his spine straighten and his fingers twitch. Commander Iverson had apologized to him, though he’d side-eyed Keith with his remaining good eye as he did, expression unreadable. 

It wasn’t until later that he found out who had been responsible for that eyepatch, which explained the commander’s reluctance to actually meet or deal with Keith. 

But there were altogether many worse duties than carrying documents to Keith, Black Paladin, leader of Voltron-- his dearest friend. 

He smiled a little at the thought as he made his way to the Garrison’s guest wing, now temporary home to them, the Alteans, Krolia, and a cosmic teleporting space wolf prone to scaring unwary staff. 

He knocked on the door, unsurprised when it opened silently at first touch. “Keith, Iverson wants--” 

He dropped the tablet. 

Keith looked up. “Shiro?” 

“Y-you- your clothes--!” 

Keith looked down at himself. “I thought-- well, I didn’t think they’d be  _ this _ small.” Keith frowned, brows pinched together in frustration. 

His slender fingers were curled around the hem of his shirt. Already tight, now it seemed two sizes too small, stretching over his broadened chest and showing off a full three fingers of firm, beautifully toned abdominal muscles. The seams of his shirt screamed around hard biceps, thin on the edges, and his pants weren’t buttoned, gaping at the zip around lean, cut hips. 

Shiro’s tongue felt like it’d grown two feet down his throat, his face warming with shame even as he pulled himself together.

“What did Iverson want?”

It took a moment for Shiro to remember he’d come here for something. “Just-- just for tomorrow-- he wanted to discuss the plans for the UN Meeting.” 

“We’re  _ not  _ flying Volton for any parades,” Keith said dourly, giving up on pulling the cropped jacket on. The leather squeaked in relief as he threw it on the bed. 

Shiro chuckled weakly. “It could be worse.” 

Keith glanced at him sidelong. “If they wanted to show someone off, they still have you.” 

“Sure, if they wanted to warn someone off,” Shiro’s mouth quirked, running his good hand through the mess of white hair that now flopped over his brow. “I’m not exactly inspirational, anymore. Nobody wants to remember war isn’t all glory and fame.” He’d be a cautionary tale, at best, his right sleeve hanging empty. But he was alive. He had Keith. And that was enough. 

His eyes followed Keith’s frustrated tugging at his shirt, drawn to the graceful stroke of muscle from his elbow to his tapered wrists. 

There had been a time when Keith had been all elbows and knees, a kittenish waif, all claw and fang and a floppy mess of fluffy hair. Shiro hadn’t been able to stop worrying about him. He’d wonder, in the middle of drills, if Keith had gotten into another fight, why he was so thin, and if there was anything he could do for him, anything at all. Anything to protect that gaunt shoulder; anything to tease out another shy little grin. 

Looking at him now, it was almost a lie. He wasn’t sure what to think of him now, this sleek, gorgeous stranger with his straightforward gaze and achingly sweet smiles. 

Then Keith turned, the pink scar on his cheek a reminder- a twin to Shiro’s own, a declaration. 

“I don’t know about that. It worked for me,” Keith said, that shy, soft smile on his lips. 

Then he tugged at his shirt one last time and the fabric ripped, yanking into two halves, each strip clenched in one of Keith’s fists and baring swathes of toned torso, pecs delicately and deliberately sculpted, tipped with a rosy dust-pink.

Shiro choked.

Keith looked abashed. “That was my only shirt…” 

Shiro made a garbled reply. 

“Shiro?” 

Shiro snapped his jaw shut. “I- shopping. We can go shopping. Everyone needs new clothes.” 

Keith frowned. “Mo- Krolia and the others can’t go-- they’d attract too much attention.” 

Shiro was fairly certain just Keith would be enough to turn heads. Especially if he went out  _ like this _ . But Pidge, Hunk, and Lance were all with their families- that left them as the only earth-grown paladins left on the team. 

“My clothes-- my old ones. You can wear them out. They might fit.” He’d gotten them in a box, dusty from disuse, but Commander Holt had been thoughtful enough to have had it fetched for him. Nobody had known what to do with his things. Nobody had thought they wouldn’t come back. 

His room was right next door- easy enough to drop by and get them. So he did, holding the box between his side and his one good arm. It was just large enough that he could, though awkward enough that he was glad to put the box down.

Keith’s face lit up as he pulled out a familiar beat-up black leather jacket from the box. “It’s your jacket.” 

Shiro sat with him, cross-legged on the floor beside him so his eyes wouldn’t wander. “And my shirts. And my pants,” he said, pulling them out. “Go ahead and try them on, you might not drown in them now,” he teased. 

Keith pressed the jacket to Shiro’s chest. “You wear it. I’ll find something else.” 

Shiro blinked. “You sure?” 

“Positive,” Keith smiled. “I want to see you in it.” 

Shiro’s heart skipped. It wasn’t fair. He’d missed nearly three years of Keith’s life and now he couldn’t even talk to him properly. 

“What’re you going to wear, then?” 

Keith dug inside the box, pulling out Shiro’s old green and gold dress uniform. 

“....No,” Shiro said. 

Keith raised his brows. “You said I’d make officer, in a few years.” 

“Keith, impersonating an officer is a serious offense,” Shiro intoned solemnly, but his lips twitched. 

“Who’s going to know?” 

“Every officer in the Galaxy Garrison. You’re going to give Iverson a stroke.”

“I’m not seeing the downside here,” Keith said, but he put the jacket back. Shiro let his shoulders slump in relief. He might not be an officer anymore, but he didn’t want to see the look on Iverson’s face if he saw Keith go out in that.

Unperturbed, Keith got on his knees to search deeper in the box, finally pulling out a soft, old varsity jacket and a pair of jeans he’d bought in a fit of optimism-- that fizzled out in front of his bedroom mirror. 

The varsity jacket was black and white jersey, his name and number across the back in thick block letters. 

Keith found a shirt to go with it before Shiro could protest. 

“How long has it been since you wore this one?” Keith asked, pulling on one of countless white shirts before wriggling into the jacket. 

“Before I met you,” Shiro said, shaking his head. A time before Keith seemed like lifetimes. “It’s really jackets with you, isn’t it? I’ve got to have another one in there that doesn’t have my name on it.” 

“Sure. They’re comfortable. I’ll just be ‘Shirogane’, too.” The sleeves were a little long on him, draping over the base of his palms, but it was nowhere near as comically big as it might have been before. 

“Before, huh?” Keith looked down at his wrists, his lashes sweeping out over his cheeks. Were they always that long?  “What did you play?” 

“Ah- I think-- baseball,” Shiro covered. “It’s still a little big on you.” In a way, that was comforting. “But you definitely filled out. Guess we’re finally seeing where all my pay went, feeding you on weekends,” Shiro grinned. 

Keith scowled a bit. “I couldn’t help it.” He’d been a bottomless pit, shy about asking for more, but eyeing Shiro’s fries hopefully anyway.

Standing up, Keith struggled to get his pants off, nearly stripping his underwear off in the process. 

At eye-level, Shiro caught a glimpse of fine dark hair and quickly looked away, coughing as he busied himself looking through the rest of the box. He  _ had  _ to act normal. This wasn’t a time to be weird about Keith. He’d called him his brother. And for him, anything. For him, Shiro would be. 

With a soft grunt, Keith stepped into the borrowed pair of jeans, letting out a breath when the button closed and the zip did up properly. 

This was going to kill him. And he’d already died once. 

He felt sixteen again, tripping over his own feet just because a pretty face looked his way. But Keith was more than that. He just had to get used to Keith again.

“I have other pants. But you picked the smallest ones,” Shiro pointed out helpfully, sneaking a look. He bit his lip. That… well, they were really  _ tight _ , clinging to Keith’s thighs. It wasn’t any worse than the vacuum-sealed Marmora suit, or even their flight suits, but being jeans, they rode low, the dark denim just barely hanging on to Keith’s hips. 

“You’re not changing?” Keith asked quizzically, tilting his head. 

“Y-yeah, just give me a bit.” How was he supposed to follow up a show like that, really? 

Shiro started to pull the top of his flight suit off, pulling one side first, then the other, until Keith, smoothly, without pause, came and helped it the rest of the way. He was so close, Shiro could feel him breathe, the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his body on his bare skin, the air between them warm. 

He’d taken pains to shower privately, ever since he’d gotten away from the Arena- but nothing about Keith’s presence, his gaze, felt anything but natural. Even giving Shiro butterflies didn’t change that. 

Keith’s hands reached for his belt next until Shiro cleared his throat. “I, uh, I think I can get that myself, later.” 

Keith nodded and didn’t seem to  think anything of it, digging out another white shirt and waiting patiently for Shiro to bow his head so he could get it on, smoothing the fabric out on Shiro’s skin. 

“...It’s gotten small on you, too,” Keith smiled, getting the jacket on and folding the trailing sleeve neatly. Shiro’s shoulders were snug in his old clothes, it was true, missing arm notwithstanding. 

“They fit. More than I can say for yours.”  

Keith laughed, his breath gusting out over Shiro’s neck. “Maybe not after Hunk and Pidge finish upgrading your new arm.”

Shiro made a face. He was honestly a little scared of what those two had in mind after a good year of tinkering with all kinds of super-advanced alien tech and the full backing of the Galaxy Garrison’s R&D. 

“It looks good,” Keith said suddenly. 

“What?” Shiro blinked, startled out of his thoughts.

“That jacket. It’s my favorite.” Keith’s face, always expressive, softened with a gentle fondness, “I always-- it’s one of my best memories,” he confessed quietly, a secret long unvoiced. 

“When you took me out to the desert, just the two of us, after I got into that fight. And you told me that it was worth it. That I was worth it.”

“You are,” Shiro said, voice steady; heart full. “You always were.” 

“You were the only one who saw it. I wouldn’t be here without you. Without what you gave me.” Keith’s voice didn’t break. His gaze didn’t waver. The calm that now draped over him like a regal mantle barely bound the furnace that crackled from inside him. 

“Right now, that’s some clothes and some advice,” Shiro said, trying to lighten the tension that drew Keith’s shoulders tight. “You’ve done so much more--” 

Keith pressed two fingers to Shiro’s lips. “Let me finish,” he said, looking up at him with those clear eyes, this close he could see the lighter purple shift underneath the dark steel in them, like his blade; like his past.  

“I thought we were going to die. I’d messed up- I wasn’t strong enough- and that meant death.”

Shiro tried to speak again, only to find those fingers replaced by lips, soft and clumsy, sealing them together with the force of Keith’s sincerity. It was searing and quick, like a brand, three seconds etched for eternity. 

“And you were the last thing I saw, even when I closed my eyes. It was you, in this jacket. You, that day.” 

“I want to see you, Shiro- every day until I die. If you,” his voice hitched, “if you’ll let me. I love you. More than anything.” 

For a moment, he thought he might be reading it wrong. That Keith might say something else and he’d know what to say. But he didn’t say anything else, simply holding him, his arms wound tight around Shiro’s back.

Shiro fell to his knees, collapsed. 

Keith caught him, following him down.

“Keith… Are you sure about this?” Shiro kept his gaze on the wall. If he looked at Keith, if he looked now, he wouldn’t refuse him anything. No, that was a lie. He’d never been able to refuse him. For him, anything. The lie was to deny the way his own feelings had changed. 

“I couldn’t stop if I wanted to.”

And wasn’t that like Keith? A force of nature, bundled tightly in one man. It didn’t matter to him what Shiro was or what others might think. He didn’t think about how it might change what they had or any of the little things that dragged on Shiro’s shoulders, nagging him with future regrets. 

Brave, bold, and beautiful. He had no idea how much Shiro wanted to be more like him, too. 

Then maybe it was alright, to be brave. 

He raised his head, meeting Keith’s gaze and told him: “yes.”

‘Yes’ was a small word, housing a small world, with just the two of them in it, each exactly where they ought to be. 

“I’ve loved you from the moment we met.”  

**Author's Note:**

>  **A/N:**  
>  Posting this before I lose my nerve. I tried not to write ‘i love you’ but Keith was stronger than me. Also, how many times can I write these two being/getting married? Clearly not enough. 
> 
> A small contribution to this post-S6 aisheitheru meltdown, inspired by this  cute and sexy artwork of grown-up!Keith and flustered!Shiro from the unbelievably talented @L_strikes_art!  
> Thankyou for letting me write it! :D 
> 
>  
> 
> In the beginning, there was only this:  
> Shiro: Keith, Iverson wa-wh-*drops his files*  
> Keith: *trying to tug his shirt down* What does he want?  
> Shiro: ---I-- he wants to see--  
> Keith: *tugs too hard and rips his shirt all the way off*  
> Shiro: *dies* 
> 
> But Keith kept going. :’) As he does. 
> 
> Last but not least, it’s been a fairly long time and I’m a bit rusty, so many thanks to my friend [SS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinnatious/pseuds/Sinnatious) for being my screaming partner and helping me get this out! Alternative summary also from them. :')


End file.
